


And is gone altogether too soon

by Ruta



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Romance, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Feels, Near Death, Post-Canon, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruta/pseuds/Ruta
Summary: Against the horizon of the dawning sky, two figures stand out, a man and a woman, side by side, hands entwined and heads joined together as if they were confiding secrets. [...]They laugh carefree and it is that sound, under the sky quilted by the last stars and the first light of sunrise, that Neja will never forget. Not the legend. Not the story as it was passed down. Not the tragedy. Only an embrace exchanged at the end of time, in the land-water boundary between the worlds, while the Force sings around them, healing a bond that is once again whole, deep and complex as life itself.(Where Ben Solo is a romantic fool at heart and shows himself as a Force ghost only at the end of Rey's journey.)
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	And is gone altogether too soon

**Author's Note:**

> My second attempt in this fandom. I'm not a native speaker so forgive any mistakes, please! Thank you for your time and enjoy the read!

The first time it happens is fifteen years after the fall of the First Order, after the definitive defeat of the Emperor. Exactly fifteen years and twenty-three days have passed since Ben Solo's death.

The New Republic, or it would be more accurate to say _New New_ , intends to celebrate the anniversary with great fanfare and Rey, as First Jedi of the New Jedi Order, with the honorary title of Master among the Masters who have since then strengthened their ranks, is obliged to attend the commemoration.

Her place is among those of honor, between rulers and nobles, the wealthy individuals in the caste system of the host planet, ambassadors and the factions of relatively young senators.

The two seats next to her are still empty. Finn remained at the Academy, uninterested in making his appearance while Poe is engaged in what has become his mission since the end of the war: to return their identities to people like Jannah, tracking down their families. It's a difficult job, some would call it madness, but Poe is stubborn and with the help of General Calrissian and Chewbacca he is getting unexpected results, especially after having managed to penetrate the protected deposit of one of the First Order old base planets and back up the data.

Rey assesses critically the splendor of the occasion and looks back to the horror of the war, to the hunger that pierced her stomach during the long lonely nights on Jakku.

The rustle of precious fabrics, the dizzying height of the ladies' hairstyles, the chattering of the gathered crowd, the warmth of the sun on the skin, the sweet scent of flowers thrown from the balconies. There are too many noises, too many smells, too many colors. A long time has passed since the last occasion she was surrounded by so many people. Maybe too much, a voice whispers somewhere inside her.

Usually she leads a quiet life, limiting public outings to a minimum. Not entirely lonely, not a complete hermit, at least not like Luke. After the first five years spent on Tatooine, returning to a totally different daily life from what she had become accustomed to has been difficult. Assisted by Finn to re-found the Academy, she began to travel from one end of the Galaxy to the other, looking for students to whom she could show the ways of the Force, who she could call apprentices, to whom transmit the knowledge of ancient times and to whom pass the torch one day.

"Hey, Jedi Legend," says someone to her left before a figure in blue occupies the place that should be Finn's. Rey cannot avoid a broad smile as she catches the glances that the other attendees are pointing in their direction. Contrary to the label that the formal occasion would impose, Rose chose a dress that, however elegant, is even flashy in its practical simplicity.

"Hello to you too, stranger."

Rose's eyes are piercing as usual as they peer at her from head to toe. The nod she gives her is one of complete approval.

Rey wears the vestiges of the Order, easily recognizable in the sobriety that characterizes them: a tunic of an almost opalescent whiteness and a green cloak reminiscent of the grass on the cliffs of Ahch-To. The only feature of vanity are the braids that surround her head like a crown, symbol of an extraordinary woman.

"Finn asked me to tell you that he is too busy pretending he has something to do rather than show up so he delegated me."

Against her will, Rey's lips arch again into a more discreet smile. Without taking her eyes off the ceremony below, she nods. "Very wise on his part."

Rose heaves a theatrical sigh, waving a hand in front of her heated face. The sun is at its peak and the air is beginning to become suffocating. "Very convenient for him, that's what you mean. What about Poe? What's his excuse?"

"Common sense."

Rose makes a face, conceding the point.

The glances around them have become persistent and the whispers fall and rise like a tide. Rey tries to ignore them and keeps a carefully neutral expression. On the contrary, Rose seems ready to fight. To placate her, Rey rests a hand on her elbow. "Leave it."

Out of the corner of her eye she sees her deflate, perceives anger gradually receding, turning into mild annoyance and boredom.

"They need this," she answers the unspoken question, the same as always. _How do you do it and above all why do you submit yourself to all this?_

The answer is easy. They need her, the only apprentice of Luke Skywalker, the jedi who defeated the Emperor. Peace, she has learned, rests its foundations on the lies that often serve to fuel its flame and on the sacrifices that are collected to obtain it. One of these was understanding that nobody really needs her. Nobody wants Rey Skywalker, but at the same time they absolutely need her. Not Rey when she was nobody, but the luster of the name she has chosen, the greatness and the intemated fame that escort it, the legend it represents. Not the poverty and loneliness in which she grew up as a child, picking up pieces from spaceships and selling them in exchange for food, but the fleeting, ephemeral glory of a victory obtained at an high cost.

Once she would have despised all this, she would have found it unbearable. Being wanted not for what she is, but in function of the message she carries. Not to be accepted, not really. Yes, once, a thousand lives ago, when she was young and nobody had died for her yet, she had not yet experienced the priceless freedom of a love granted unconditionally, she would have hated all this.

Under the cloak, hidden from view and curiosity, Rose puts an hand on hers, in the solid camaraderie that distinguishes a decade-long friendship.

Reassured by the comfort that accompanies the gesture, Rey listens while she updates her on recent developments in the Outer Rim, the latest repair she has made, the uninterrupted flow of news circulating on the ancient trade routes. She nods when needed, intervenes if necessary, is active enough. The wrinkles that ripple Rose's forehead lighten considerably and the tension around her mouth disappears as if a weight has been lifted.

"What about you?"

Her fingers have a slight spasm. She knows what she really wants to know, what she is asking. "What do you want to know?"

"Rey". Her voice is little more than a whisper, the concern that blazes in her kind eyes like a localized fire. The uproar of the world that Rose's presence had served to calm comes back majestically, eating her heart, submerging her. "It has been twenty days..."

No, that’s not true. Fifteen years and twenty-three days have passed. She’s still in mourning and must respect his memory. The grief is a living, incandescent mass into her chest. It is a Divvik larva deposed in her brain, a parasite that resides in her lungs, inside her shadow, behind the safe boundary of her memory, against the contour of the eyelids every time she closes her eyes.

Rose doesn’t insist. Her hand remains firmly around hers.

The opening speech is at its conclusion. On the podium there is a senator whose features she remembers vaguely. Pavla Satu, she thinks it’s his name. Whoever he is, he's got a gift for the theatrics. Pauses of effect that culminate in thunderous applause. Appropriately demure and not overly exaggerated, enough to obtain not entirely simulated reactions of empathy. Rey tries to focus on what he's saying -

"The new government has reaped the sad and heavy legacy left by the past regime. It is our duty to carry on the ideal heritage of our predecessors..."

\- and spectacularly fails. Despite the amplifiers, the words are muffled. She's just a stain in the colorful gathering of dignitaries. She is as alone as she has been in the past fifteen years. The scar of the severed bond burns like poison, like the bite of a Neelig.

Suddenly, on the edge of her field of view, something catches her attention. A disturbance in the Force. Like heat waves on the horizon of a wasteland.

It is a matter of a moment. The dancing ﬂowers filling the air, the sharp proﬁle of the buildings in the square, the sunbeams that refract against the constant splashes of water from the fountain in front of which the podium was built. Everything is frozen, crystallized in a moment of absolute stasis, of apparent calm. The calm before the storm.

The next moment there is the first explosion, just below the podium and a cacophony of screams and panic fills her ears. Rey is already on her feet with the lightsaber active, her cloak lies at her feet while her eyes dart left and right trying to identify the source of the attack. Rose is no exception. In less than five seconds she covers her back and holds a blaster.

Despite everything, Rey is impressed. "Where did you keep it?"

Rose winks at her. "Every girl has her secrets."

Rey's laughter is liberating, like the first sip of water under a scorching sun, after a morning spent in the carcass of a Star Destroyer. She tastes the adrenaline on the tip of her tongue and feels refreshed. In the immediacy of the action, every bit of concentration must be reserved for the present. The ghosts of the past, of what in a more just, compassionate world could have been, recede into the bubble of sparkling perfection that Rey jealously guards in a corner inside herself, the most secret and intimate part, the one that hardly appaears in broad daylight.

Her body quivers and the blood boils in her veins. She feels alive and the absence at her side becomes almost tolerable, the pain - muffled by necessity and duty – doesn’t prevent her from breathing. She feels how she felt when she was twenty, when for a moment everything made sense: whole, invincible, strong.

Rose is looking at her with fondness. Something must show through her expression because she is shaking her head. She seems amused. "You are a strange and magical creature, honestly."

"Don't spoil the fun," Rey says and then, again serious, a little more composed, "All right, from now you’re on your own.”

Rose is about to respond, probably with something a little snarky, but a second explosion severs the conversation.

"Go," she says, still shooting and Rey instantly remembers the downside, the terror behind the possibility of a defeat, when facing the aftermath of the battle, the loss. She didn't have this feeling, a mixture of anxiety and fear, since -

"Go, Rey," Rose repeats with the same urgency, but more gently, her face bright and fiery. "Go and save the galaxy."

Rey jumps, not before noticing Radek and the rest of the squadron approaching Rose. _Obviously_. She feels no resentment, only warm gratitude. Finn would never let her come alone. Not because she is too precious, a fundamental pawn in Reconstruction as she once was for the Resistance, the symbol of hope, but because they’re family.

She moves quickly, parrying blaster shots and making her way through the rioters wearing stormtrooper helmets. It’s like a journey into the youth.

They are not trained. It is clear from the messy way they move and shoot at random. Whoever the orchestrator of the attack is, the main purpose was to create a general atmosphere of confusion and alarmism. What are they actually aiming for? It doesn’t seem like an attack on state security or the life of the senators present. Is it an attack on morality? On the message of peace? She is no longer so sure.

Among the rubble around the podium, the bodies are more numerous, not only civilians, but also the rioters who fell victim to their own attack. The Force is persistently pointing to the underground, there is a buzz of warning in the back of her consciousness that intimates her to keep the defenses raised, to remain alert.

Before descending into the old sewer system, Rey activates the comlink.

"Master Skywalker," Radek greets her and Rey rolls her eyes. This is not the time for pleasantries. As briefly as possible, she reveals her suspicions and orders to clear the surrounding building, to create a security perimeter.

"What are you going to do?" Rose must have snatched the comlink out of his hand.

Rey hesitates, but only for a moment. "What I have to." _As always._

She inhales deeply, emptying the mind of memories, _of him_. She turns off her lightsaber before jumping into the dark.

*

Pavla Satu of Chandrila is in front of her, miraculously unscathed and armed.

Rey realizes why she felt that strange feeling of recognition during the speech. They never exchanged more than a few words, empty small talk, but their steps have often crossed in the corridors of the Senate. The expression of contentious respect has been dismissed, revealing itself for the mask it was. Now she exudes a bold arrogance.

He is not old nor young, just like her. He doesn’t belong to the generation that came with the advent of peace, he isn’t a son born during the war. His gaze, in focusing on her, has a fanatic and exalted light.

They hold each other under fire. Unlike her who stays motionless, he is circling her, head slightly tilted to one side and half-closed eyes that seem to analyze every detail of her, to catalog her scars. "I must admit that the stories have magnified the greatness of your deeds. In all honesty I expected better from the First Jedi. Sith killer. Rey Skywalker. Or should I use your real name? The name you have denied, choosing to serve the enemy of your family." His face deforms into a rictus of loathing. "Ungrateful girl."

Rey doesn't blink. She hasn’t been a girl for many years now. "I rejected that lineage. I made my choice long ago." _Do you think you're the first to offer me what I've already refused? You are not. You won't even be the last. What did you hope to achieve?_ That realm of chaos is over. She and Ben have restored balance in the Force, peace in the Galaxy.

"It will never cease," Pavla is practically growling. Her absence of reactions must have unnerved him. "The war you think you won isn't really over. It just stopped. A new Order will rise again, a new Empire, stronger than before, unstoppable."

"Even if it were true, nothing would change. We have already fought against you. We have won every single time. Threaten the peace and we will oppose you. We will never stop fighting for justice. We will resist. We will triumph. It is our destiny."

"They won't triumph. Not without their best weapon."

Without moving her arm from the hip, Rey inflects the forefinger, attracting the blaster that now floats in mid-air, out of his reach. She closes her hand into a fist deforming the metal with the Force to the point of making it unusable, unrecognizable. What remains of the blaster falls into the slime of the canal with a thud. Rey kicks it away, filling the space that separated them in a few steps.

Her lightsaber is the only source of light. It reminds her of the sacrifice that was necessary. It represents each of her responsibilities. Those who wield yellow lightsabers are considered Sentinels and recognize that the Force is not the solution to every problem. How could it be otherwise? The Force has given her everything she has, made her the person she has become. The Force and the love of a lonely and lost boy, of a good man brought her back to life. It was always the Force, however, even if indirectly, that made her alone, to deprive her of each of the people she loved.

"You will not cause the chaos you seek by killing me. Balance has never been a single person. It was only born from me."

"It was born from you and will die with you."

Rey narrows her eyes. So she was the target. It has always been her, from the beginning.

It’s easy to thrust the lightsaber into his belly. The moment she pulls it out, Pavla Satu is wincing, reaching down for his abdomen and staring at her with a bafflement that leaves Rey unsatisfied.

"Just because I denied that name, it doesn't mean I didn't understand and accept the darkness within me." She bends over and their eyes are again at the same height. "I talked about balance. Didn't you listen?"

Pavla burst out laughing and that laughter evokes unpleasant sensations. Does it become so for everyone, at some point in one's life? Do you find shreds of the past, old enemies and friends, in the eyes of those around you? Or maybe you just become more proficient at recognizing the signs, you sharpen your judgment skills?

His laugh turns into a bubbling sound, as if he were suffocating. When she sees him pulling out the trigger, it’s already too late. The world turns into a pillar of fire and in the explosion her body is thrown backwards by the shock wave that hits her in full. She has the readiness to keep the flames at bay, but debris hits her in the face, distracting her.

She falls and the rest is oblivion.

*

She wakes up to the sound of her name persistently repeated. Someone is calling her and the voice is distorted, it seems to come from far away, like the echo of a transmission on a disturbed frequency.

She blinks and the first thing she sees - beyond the curtain of smoke that is gradually filling the tunnel and replacing the air, beyond the block of stone that has collapsed on her and prevents her from moving from the waist down, beyond the barrier of Force that she has raised between herself and the fire in a primordial and innate instinct for self-preservation - the first thing she sees is him. _Him_. Ben Solo. He is cloaked by the bluish light of the spirits.

She is dreaming. It must be a dream. Yet - She feels his fingers flex against her cheek, cold and immaterial. Her vision is clouded by the unshed tears as she comes to terms with the irrefutable truth that no, it isn’t a dream at all. It cannot be for countless reasons. First of all, the blood that flows abundantly from the wound on her forehead and the fact that he is not really touching her. He is a tangible presence, but even at a similar moment he remains out of her reach.

She blinks, tasting sweat and blood on her lips and Ben Solo doesn't disappear.

"Are you real?" She reaches out to him before remembering that even if he's there, it doesn't mean she can brush him. Everything has changed and nothing has changed. Her hand falls against her hip like a useless, helpless weight.

She sees him swallowing, closing his eyes as if he had hit him. "Rey..." he sighs helplessly. He appears as overwhelmed as she is by their proximity. When he opens his eyes, Rey is still bewildered. On the contrary, Ben seems to be master of himself, of his own reasoning. He scans the environment, lingers on the shield that prevents her from being crushed by debris or from being burned. He nods, a barely perceptible nod. He has decided on the action plan to adopt, the next steps.

"Can you move?" The tone is brusque, practical and retains nothing of the reverential wonder of just before.

"I thought that -" she doesn't even know what she believed, exactly. She saw him disappear before her eyes, become one with the Force and she never felt more defenseless, more broken than when she realized she had lost him and that nothing, no attempt would have bring him back to her. "You never showed up before. Why?"

"Rescue is on the way," Ben replies as if he hasn't heard her, as if that is not the only topic worthy of consideration for her, as if doing so all the questions in her head will magically disappear. She had forgotten how frustrating it could be to deal with him, the conflicting desire to grab him and shake him or kiss him, not necessarily in this order. "It is of outmost importance that you manage to free yourself. Together we should be able to -" Ben looks at her and finally has to realize her unusual dumbness. "Are you listening?"

Rey tries to lift herself up on her elbows, but the sudden movement causes her head to just spinning for a second. She falls backwards - the fall muffled by Ben through the Force - staring at the shield and feeling the world tremble under her feet for totally different reasons. Ben is a translucent and silent presence as he lowers his arm, as if he wanted to deny what he has just done. He doesn’t approach and doesn’t move towards her, but Rey cannot help noticing the rigidity of his body and the slight tremor that shakes his hands.

"All this time," she starts and the surprise is giving way to something devastating, something that is fomented by his hesitation, "for all these years I have believed that you - I don't understand. Why hide it?"

"I didn't want this for you, for us."

Rey frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Suddenly Ben is no longer a statue at his feet, but a creature of flesh, blood and emotions. He unleashes such fury that the air around them sizzles, charged with static electricity. The way he is looking at her is terrifying, full of the contradictions he has always held: worry and accusation, regret and guilt. "Where did you spend the first five years after my death?"

Suddenly it’s the first anniversary of the defeat of the Emperor. She is back on Tatooine, on the farm that has been her home for five years, totally focused on her own despair, stupefied by the pain and the still open wound of the severed bond, to the point that the reality that surrounds her becomes a nightmare. In her bed, curled up on herself, she stares at the wall for whole hours, days. She is deaf, blind. Her body no longer belongs to her. It is detached from her.

"That," he says relentlessly, ruthlessly. "That is why."

Rey finds her voice with difficulty and when she speaks, perhaps it is just a bit harsher than necessary, "It wasn't up to you to decide."

"I have robbed you of many things. I could not have robbed you of the possibility of building a future without me."

"Do you think I did it?" She sees him blink quickly and turn a gaze towards her which, above all else, expresses uncertainty. "Build a future for myself, I mean." He must feel the indignation and betrayal that are tearing her apart. The contrast between the turmoil within her and the calmness with which she still manages to speak are the testament of the elapsed time, of the woman she grew up in. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me, what all this means? How hard it was to learn to -" she stops, running out of oxygen and words to throw at him. She can't even look him in the face, endure his sight and isn't it absurd after years of being torn apart by the opposite desire? Dream him and wake up crying for the fear of being one step away from forgetting the expression of tenderness with which he looked at her just before dying, that possessive touch against her lips, that softness under her fingers, the ductility of his smile.

"I have a very specific idea. I was with you at every step."

"No, you weren't!" She is shaking, blinded by rage. She hates the power he has over her, how she feels destabilized and off-axis. "You chose not to be there. Is it to punish me because I survived?” It is almost impossible, but he seems to have turned pale. She already regrets what she said, but how could he do that to her, to them? Fifteen years. She has endured fifteen years alone, torn by remorse, devastated by grief and now he is here and is telling her that all the time, all the damned time, they could have been together, that he never left her side. How can she not hate him? And how can she not love him all the more tenaciously, desperately?

She coughs and when she removes her hand away from her mouth she is not surprised to find it stained with blood.

"Rey". The panic in his voice is as real as the vulnerability with which he is looking at her.

"I'm dying."

"No. _No_. You have to listen to me. Finn is coming. You have to stay conscious."

It was an incredibly selfish act. And yet... was it really, at the end of the day? Wasn't it exactly the opposite? She was so distressed and in such a state of prostration-

"Rey."

She feels so tired. She must fight to keep her eyes open. She should move the debris blocking her legs, but she has lost too much blood. Attempting would not only mean failing, it would lead to her death. "I understand why you did it," she mutters weakly. "I can't accept it, but I understand it."

A flash of surprise crosses his faces, combined with something indefinite, something that looks like displeasure. "You have become wise."

She gives him the shadow of a smile. Strangely, she feels at peace. She doesn’t want that the last words they will exchange are of anger. She doesn’t want this to be her last feeling, especially if it is addressed to him. "Between the two someone had to."

Ben kneels by her side again. Seen up close, it doesn’t seem has passed a day since she last saw him. The time in their case has not been merciful. In her change and in his perpetual inalterability it accentuates their separation, the difference of experiences to which life has subjected them. Rey knows she is different in a subtle, unequivocal way. New wrinkles at the edges of the eyes and mouth, new scars and ad attitude that she hopes is less impulsive.

Phantom fingers push a strand of hair away from her forehead and Rey knows it's not because of hypothermia that she's shivering. They are longer than when she met him, loose they would reach her hips.

Ben's eyes are melancholy and full of affection. "I like them."

_I hoped you would._

When help arrives, finally, Rey alternates short moments of lucidity with long moments of unconsciousness. The worried faces of Finn and Ben are stretched out over hers and both repeat her name almost continuously to keep her awake.

She is transported outside and there is already a med droid waiting for her. In a glimmer of complete clarity, Rey extend a hand towards Ben. She knows what it means, what will happen once she is healed and the idea is killing her. (If she was in her right mind, she would notice Finn's shock, how his wide-eyed gaze is flashing from her to Ben. She would notice and draw the necessary conclusions. Small oddities, mannerism that Finn never had before the end of the war. Gazes lost in emptiness, the way he sometimes nods during the Councils, as if he were carrying on a silent conversation with himself. But it was always Ben. Ben never left her side. He just decided to make himself invisible. To her, not to others.)

 _Be with me_ , she thinks with all her might and transmit the message through the bond as long as it is still open. _Be with me._

The despair of her desire is reflected and amplified in the sharp angles of his haunted face, in the conflict that she reads in his eyes and oh, oh, how much she has missed him. Learning to live with the gash in her mind, as real as an amputation, to survive the idea of a life without him... was a difficult, prodigious, unreal task. After that, nothing seemed impossible.

_I cannot. Not yet._

She is no longer able to recognize who this excruciating pain belongs to, to say with absolute certainty whether it is his or hers. The truth is that it belongs to both.

_It is not yet time._

_When will it be? I missed you. I miss you every hour of every day. I love you._

Ben Solo has always been his father's son. His eyes are those of Leia Organa, vibrant and passionate, but the lopsided smile is that of a braggart smuggler.

_I know._

*

It is a day like any other. The suns have long since gone and the glimpse of the sky she can observe from the chair she is sitting on is dark as only night can be.

BB-8 and Neja's bickering comes from the back of the house. They are as familiar noises as the thunderous silence in her head has become. It seems to be a curse in this family: losing a part of themself. It is the price to pay to find out the truth about yourself.

Neja is grumbling as she works on the engine of her speeder and BB-8 intervenes with suggestions that Neja will pretend not to consider and then follow to the letter. It is an image she knows so well that she can almost see them. Neja, with frizzy hair that looks like pure gold and that she likes to tie with strips of fabric of vibrant colors, head bent over the compartment, forehead frowning and dirty with oil, slender fingers moving fast between the threads. BB-8 moving back and forth around her.

The last of her apprentices is a force of nature, instinctive and passionate. It hasn't always been this way. She remembers a pushy and introverted girl with intelligent eyes in a serious and pointed face. She remembers, as the first time she discovered her, after tracing her power in the alleys of a decadent city at the borders of the Outer Rim, her first thought was of nostalgia for another child, one whom she has dreamed for half her life and was never born, but that could have been if only he -

The voices turn down and the last heat of the day seems to disappear suddenly. It is almost time for dinner. Rey straightens up and the pain comes, overwhelming her. She looks for the handhold of the nearest piece of furniture, counting her heartbeats.

That's when she sees him. Standing in the corner of the room, surrounded by a halo that is not the lapis lazuli blue of the other ghosts, but has the metallic color of the stars and the Falcon.

He is exactly the same and yet, when their eyes meet, new wrinkles appear to weigh down his face - twins of hers - a different light transfigures his gaze, making him temperate as he never truly seemed before.

At the end of the world, between the changing and the immutable, time contracts in the space that separates them, impossible to overcome and little more than a sigh.

Because he is there and the mere sight of his regal profile is enough to erase part of the spasms in her chest, the reverberation of a twinge that didn’t start a few moments before, but the day she lost him.

"You’re here."

"I never left."

_It’s time to go?_

_Only if you want it to be._

Rey looks around, at the house that she has built for herself on this planet of trees and lakes, rest and solitude. It is a welcoming, comfortable setting, suitable for the needs of a person. On the table there is a bowl with the fresh fruit she bought the day before and the guest room is rarely empty. There is always someone who comes to visit her, friends or old students or her family. There are still outstanding issues, unresolved problems. She is ready to go, but she doesn’t know if the rest of the universe is ready to let her go.

_Would you still wait if I chose to stay?_

Time borrowed. Stolen time.

She swallows. "Would you really do that?" She sees him smile, that asymmetrical smile that fills his entire face. She already knows the answer. With difficulty, but he would, he would accept her decision. There is nothing he wouldn't do if she asked him.

"I've waited fifty years," he says and shrugs. "What are ten or a hundred more?"

Her heart skips a beat and this time it's a pleasant pain.

"I'm ready."

*

She looks back and her body is there, sitting in her favorite armchair, wrapped in the shawl that was a gift from Rose. Her face, marked by years and battles, is placid. It looks like she's sleeping.

Rey observes it one last time, experiencing a feeling that she doesn't fully recognize, something that isn't regret, it’s not melancholy, it's not sadness. It is just a deep sense of completeness. Knowing that it's really over. Her journey, her life, every promise she made, every obligation. She sees it disappear and is transported, pulled by the Force to a place that is light-years away and at the same time incredibly close.

"Rey."

She turns and he is there. Beautiful and close enough to break her heart with hope. He holds out his hands and when in return she holds out hers, fearful that they will cross him and all this will be only a dream, yet another illusion, her fingers collide against soft skin, strong bones, rough fingertips, calloused palms.

Rey sighs, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had held back, lifting her eyes from their intertwined hands and fixing them on Ben Solo's young face.

"Ben," she says, and this time it’s him who leans forward to kiss her.

*

"I know, BB-8. That's what she wanted."

She knows it and at the same time she cannot help feeling despair at the idea of having lost her Master, the woman who was a mother and sister to her, who from the first moment they met represented everything she wanted to be.

Neja wipes her cheeks and brushes the clothes carefully folded on the bed one last time. She found them on the armchair - after rushing for having perceived a disturbance in the Force, the distinctive mark of Rey becaming indistinct and dim - and immediately understood what had happened.

There will be a funeral and probably a memorial ceremony. There are so many issues and problems that now, without her guidance, seem unsolvable to her.

 _You are not alone, Jerneja._ A whisper in her mind, a caress against her cheek light as a breeze of wind. She tries to breathe normally, beyond the lump in the throat. _Wherever I am, I will always be with you._

*

Against the horizon of the dawning sky, two figures stand out, a man and a woman, side by side, hands entwined and heads joined together as if they were confiding secrets. They seem young and happy and when the woman gets up on her toes and rests her hands on the sides of the man's face, him who is so much taller than her leans forward and seems to want to incorporate her into his being.

They laugh carefree and it is that sound, under the sky quilted by the last stars and the first light of sunrise, that Neja will never forget. Not the legend. Not the story as it was passed down. Not the tragedy. Only an embrace exchanged at the end of time, in the land-water boundary between the worlds, while the Force sings around them, healing a bond that is once again whole, deep and complex as life itself.


End file.
